Circuit
by BashfulGnome
Summary: The memorials were gone, but the memories would always remain.


**A/N: Kicking off WiRRevival2k15 with a fanfic! For Week #1, I decided to upload this Calhoun fic I've been working on for awhile. I love all of the Core Four and it's tough for me to rank them, but Tammy is a big favorite of mine, particularly to analyze like this. Enjoy!**

It was beyond anyone's control. The console was a power hog and overheated too frequently; the light guns were sensitive and occassionally decalibrated from heavy use; the fog machine and rotating lights were just two more things to break and need repairing. At first he let it go on without the bells and whistles - they weren't necessary for the game to function, after all. He even moved its neighbors a little further away to give it some breathing room. No matter what he tried, though, eventually Hero's Duty became a liability between the persistent heating problems and gun replacements, sapping the majority of the repair funds allotted for the entire arcade. He had a certain fondness for the game and planned to keep it in his personal collection, but it was too expensive to remain at the arcade.

Luckily for all of them, they had seen it coming long before and had time to prepare. The kindly old man knew more than he let on - or, at least, they had guessed - and he had given them plenty of advance warnings whether he intended to or not. As soon as the Code 8-4 was issued, the preparations began. Weapons and ammunition were gathered and inventoried, then moved into a temporary secure bunker in Game Central Station. Anything generally useful - shuttles, furniture, tools - was salvaged with the help of friends from around the arcade. Personal belongings were carried out, final photos were taken, remaining cy-bugs were obliterated, and the beacon was left on after everyone evacuated. Finally, the entrance was blown up and sealed off.

This was it. There was no longer a way back in. All that remained was to watch the unplugging and give Hero's Duty a final sendoff.

Headed by Tamora, they all waited in formation, surrounded by friends and family. Several had to steel their gazes against tears or looks of grief, others appeared anxious, and still others stared unblinking at the portal. Just off to the side stood a quietly concerned Vanellope, with one of Ralph's enormous hands cupping her to his side. Since the unplugging of their friend's game had been announced, she'd had a rough time sleeping and stuck close to Sarge whenever she could. Memories of her own experience of Sugar Rush's near-unplugging and her attempts at escaping the glitch-proof wall resurfaced and manifested in a nagging worry for the Hero's Duty residents. At this point it was irrational, she knew, but that didn't make it any easier. Ralph tried his best to smile his reassuring gap-toothed smile for her, letting her know it was okay, but truth be told he was also leaving behind some of his own history with the game. He understood her fears better than anyone; nevertheless, speeches were not his forte.

Next to the girl on her other side waited Felix, trying to fill in that for which Ralph couldn't find words. He'd clearly had many happy memories of the game and mourned its loss, but the painful wave of nostalgia would hit him later. At the moment he was just relieved and incredibly thankful that his beloved wife, her men, and the rest of the game's cast were all safe and accounted for.

"Don't you worry, sweetheart. Everyone got out safely, see? The gang's all here. Tammy's gonna be living with me in our game just like she has been for these past several years. She just...won't have her game anymore." He swallowed. It was a punch in the chest to finally say it out loud. "But I'm sure she'll find something to do if she wants. Any game would be happy to have her working there."

A shadow passed over the cathedral window of GCS and they heard Litwak's KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK on the side of the console. "WARNING. EMERGENCY EVACUATION ALERT. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. WARNING. EMERGENCY..." called the prerecorded voice over the game's PA system. Ralph held Vanellope a little closer as they watched. A few moments later the space around the metal prongs crackled and sparked as the plug retreated, and that was when Tamora felt it.

A tangled clump of powerful sensation rolled up from her chest into her mind, prickling at her throat and stinging her eyes along the way. It was as if everything she'd ever known or experienced in and around her game adhered together into a heavy block and dropped on her, shattering when it hit.

The droves of artificial insectoid creatures and their screeches when they exploded into entrail-encrusted shrapnel. The gunfire, the dubstep, the yelling, the utter organized chaos. "Beacon up!" "Humanity's last hope..." "Dynamite gal... d͢ynami̛te͟ g̨a͏l͜dddd̛y͟nam͡i͝te̕ g̨àl̴-͝-"́

The shattering of glass, the gasps and screams, her own drowned out by the rattling chain-fed minigun, flashes of violent fire reflecting off her face, the nauseating sight and stench of mangled churning flesh in the buzzing maw of the monster...

Then nothing.

She blinked. Something in her thoughts rose up a level closer to her conscious mind. The same scene appeared to begin again, but with laser sights on the window, a much shorter groom, a giant best man and tiny maid of honor, the aroma of calla lillies, a sweet kiss.

Safe. Happy. Real.

"M-ma'am, uh...w-when can I see you again?" Another kiss on a sugarcoated rainbow bridge. The lurching bank of the shuttle as she pulled it into a half barrel roll. Singing taffy. THUNK, PING. "Again!" "No flex on this one, ma'am." "Most tragic backstory ever..." "...Jiminy jaminy..."

The darkness, the thick heat, skin-on-skin. His tiny body moving beneath hers on the plain military cot while he tried to kiss and caress every inch of her he could reach - muscles, scars, curves - his breath warm on her chest as she clutched her fingers in his hair. "Oh Tammy...Tammy...Tammy Jean..." Then, just when it got exciting- the "panic" BGM of Hero's Duty triggered from their passionate activity. After the brief initial scare it was a good long laugh, especially for her. She wasn't sure whether they should've been embarrassed or proud.

"Hey Sarge, meetcha in Tapper's at six after they've fixed up all my wreckin'." "Whoa, Sergeant Shoot-em-up's got a first name? Can I call ya T.J.?" "Is open tournament night at Street Fighter II tonight, yes. Would be honored if Lady Of War were to come and join in the crushing."

"Boys, you better step it up if you expect the drinks to be on me tonight." "Not the foosball table!" "Who took all the shower towels?" "Is that a dummied-out land mine?"

The simultaneous grunt of acknowledgement from her waiting squad when she marched into place at the beginning of the day. **_WhiRRR_** _...hmmmm_ as the rifle unfolded and laser warmed. _Clangclangclangclang-_ _ **BOOM**_ \- the feeling of the floor shaking when the heavy doors to the game environment opened. Pats on the back, punches on the arm. The groans at the dull taste and uniform texture of the mess hall food. The _click-clack-_ _ **FFFSSHHNN**_ of the armor latching and unlatching. The palpable _squeak-groan_ of its couplings when the giant trunk-arms hugged her. The incessant, repetitive buzzing of the notification button being pressed when a certain impatient President wanted to come in for a visit.

It was gone. Her room in the barracks with the bed, desk, sparse furnishings, and bathroom. The place to which she'd retreat when she had a moment, to read or knit or otherwise calm her nerves in solitude before she met the rest of her family. The marker they put out for Brad. The church where she and Felix had married. Heck, the very place they'd first met. The bridge where she'd met Wreck-It and decked him in the face with her helmet. Everything they could carry out had been saved, but the places - the sights, sounds, smells, and tastes...all gone for good.

But this still meant...they'd won. In an unintended, backwards sort of way, they'd won. The mission was complete; the war was over. There was nothing left to exterminate or save. No reason to keep suffering.

And with that, a little bit of the pressure began to lift. The memories - both programmed and lived - remained firmly in her mind, but the old familiar ebb of pain that coursed through her when recalling the unfortunate moments in her backstory didn't come on as strongly as it always had. The PTSD was coded into her, but she felt that one of its trigger lines had been severed with the disconnection.

She jolted back into full awareness. Despite the depth of her previous mental submersion, to her disbelief, only a couple of seconds had passed. On instinct she snapped into a salute and her men followed suit, as the gold-lined tunnel forming the gate to the monorail disappeared from view and was replaced with a yawning black void. As the plug pulled away it seemed to straighten out her garbled thoughts into a linear formation, like a great magnet unfurling a pile of bent metal wires. The squad held their salutes until the readout on the LCD marquee over the game's entrance changed from "DO NOT ENTER" to "EMPTY".

The congregation stood in silence. In the distance they heard the faint clattering sounds of Litwak and somebody else loading the console components onto a handcart and rolling it out the door.

Surge Protector flashed into view and began his business of setting up a barrier to prevent curious characters from wandering into the empty gate. He shook his head and adjusted his glasses, turned away from the rest of the crowd all the while. Dispassionate as he was, it was still a somber occasion when he had to stamp "DECOMMISSIONED" next to the name of a game on his clipboard.

Releasing a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, Tamora finally turned on her heel and looked over her troops before addressing them.

"Gentlemen, we've all known this day was coming for longer than was comfortable for many of us. But thanks to the efforts of everyone gathered here, there's been no loss of personnel or equipment, no casualties, and no escaped cy-bugs. The threat has been completely contained...and eliminated at comparatively little cost owing to circumstances beyond our prevention. Nevertheless, for all these years we" - she briefly glanced at Ralph, who shyly grinned in acknowledgement - "succeeded in preventing the invasion from causing external harm, and in maintaining the safety of the arcade. Mission complete."

She paused, and the faintest hint of a smile crossed her face.

"It's been a privilege working with all of you, and I wish you luck in finding new employment. Dismissed."

The squad exchanged salutes with their commander, and she prepared to turn around to leave when-

"Permission to speak, Sarge?"

"We saved the damn foosball table, Green. It's in storage."

"It's not about that, ma'am."

She turned back to face him. "Permission granted."

"If you, uh, deem my question appropriate, what are you going to do for work now?" The other Marines nodded at each other and murmured in agreement.

"Don't worry about it. Just get yourselves taken care of."

"Sarge, wait!"

They all turned their heads toward the source of the voice, and Vanellope came scampering up to Tamora. She signaled for the taller woman to bend down and whispered in her ear.

Tamora straightened back up. "Wait, seriously?"

Vanellope nodded excitedly, eyes wide and hands clasped under her chin. "Tell 'em!"

She clapped her hands together and hesistated. "Okay, new plan...how'd you boys like to work track security with me in Sugar Rush?"

"The donut cops can only do so much, ya know," Vanellope added.

The men glanced around at each other, curious.

"There's no bugs there, right?"

"Affirmative, Markowski. It's bug-free."

"Well then, count me in!"

"Seconded."

The men all chimed in, agreeing.

"Hey kid, how about we show 'em around a little?"

"Lead the way, Sarge!" Vanellope saluted.

The two of them turned to walk into Sugar Rush side-by-side, the Marines following behind them. Out of the corner of her eye Tamora caught sight of Felix and Ralph coming up to meet them.

"Hey, uh, sorry about your game, Sarge." The giant patted one hand on her shoulder.

"It couldn't be helped, big guy. Sometimes you just have to roll with it. But thanks."

Felix came up from behind them, and Ralph took it as his cue to step ahead with Vanellope. The little handyman took ahold of Tamora's hand and kissed it.

"Are you gonna be okay, honeypie?"

She watched the little president skipping about, excited to entertain the new residents and show them around. They were certainly enjoying themselves, even smiling a little so soon after the moment of sorrow they'd all witnessed. Her brother-in-law grinned and shook his head, all too familiar with the child's antics. Tamora looked down at her husband, at the genuine concern and compassion in his features, and her heart melted.

"Of course," she replied with a fond smile and squeezed his hand. "We're all gonna be okay."

 **A/N: Bittersweet, but I consider this to be separate continuity from my other fics. It's an experiment in getting into Calhoun's mind and seeing how she thinks, plus some Core Four support. For anyone who saw glitches in the text (particularly on mobile) I used that glitchy Zalgo thing for some of the "dynamite gal" text, so it might come out weird. Anywho, I hope you guys liked it!**


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